


Rescue Me

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: SF Verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flint is so done, Gifts for my porngeny, M/M, Trapped In Elevator, hipster!Silver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Flint really hates tiny, art deco elevators.  And bloody hipsters!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hallaburger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallaburger/gifts).



> Happy birthday, dear son! I hope you enjoy mom's gifts!
> 
> The idea for this actually came from Auntie [Sus](http://silversflint.tumblr.com) who is very good at all kinds of ideas.

Usually, James Flint would be first to malign the West Coast for being too casual for his taste. But on an unusually warm San Francisco morning (thanks a lot for “inventing” climate change, China!), by the time he narrowly avoided stepping into a fresh puddle of urine on the Muni, and then being nearly suffocated from the fumes emanating from bloody Sephora, he was cursing his suit and tie to the ninth circle of fresh hell. It was as if the smells and vapors of downtown had all conspired to suffocate him. He should have chosen a different profession. He should’ve chosen a lighter suit. He should’ve… oh bloody hell, he should’ve _definitely_ chosen an office building that had a decent twenty-first century elevator, instead of his poncy art deco death trap that was barely big enough for two.

“Hold the door,” a harried voice called out, followed by a sliding foot that jammed in right as the elevator was closing. Reluctantly, Flint took this thumb off the “door close” button. He knew those things weren’t actually connected to any wires, but a man could still dream.

The foot was rapidly followed by a curly mop of hair and teeth so bright that Flint had no doubts they were a result of the finest American orthodontics money could by. Bloody millennials, Flint shook his head. At least this one was wearing a tie - some small fucking miracle.

“Thank you,” the bright eyed and bushy tailed one said, to which Flint responded with a non-committal grunt. “I am almost late for an interview,” the kid continued, unprompted.

 _Almost doesn’t count_ , Flint wanted to retort. Instead, he reached deep within what was left of his polite British upbringing and grudgingly inquired “Floor?”

“Oh, twelve, please. Thank you.”

Flint grunted in response again. He too was going to the twelfth, less work for him.

The death trap rattled along at its own unhurried pace, the floor indicator flashing in a way which would have been soothing, had it not been so excruciatingly _slow_. And what was with the temperature that day, anyways? When Flint had relocated to San Francisco from New York, he did so on the promise that it would be eternally foggy and certainly never bloody over 70 oF in the middle of November.

The light stopped on a partially erased “6” with a sad, little ding. The elevator gave a small lurch and a shake and then stopped.

“Oh boy,” the curly one uttered. “I don’t see how we’re supposed to take on another passenger.”

“Hm,” Flint replied, in his usual chatty manner.

The doors, in the meantime, made the sound that a cat makes when it’s dying. Well, Flint would imagine a dying cat making such a noise, anyways, he’d never actually presided over the deaths of any cats. A hamster once, yes, but that was neither here nor there.

“What is happening?” Mr. Sunshine inquired, topaz-blue eyes fixating on Flint as if he was the source of all wisdom. Flint shrugged. “Is it going to open?”

“Do I look like an elevator technician?” Flint finally retorted with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, is it going to move again? I am going to be late for my interview!”

Flint furrowed his brows and pushed the button with the “12” on it again, for good measure. The elevator once again gave a small abortive bump beneath their feet, but otherwise remained in place. Flint then pushed the “door open” button, followed by the “door close” button (why not?), and finally every other button available to him. The door remained closed; the elevator wasn’t moving.

“Fucking hell,” Flint declared and pushed the bright red alarm button.

“Oh god, this isn’t happening!” The curly one exclaimed and sank against the wall, lowering to his haunches with his head thrown back. “They always say to leave extra time to get to your interviews, don’t they? Because of shit like this, right? Because everything that _can_ go wrong, _will_ go wrong!”

“Calm your tits,” Flint groused and pushed the alarm again until a static-filled voice came onto the intercom.

“Security, can I help you?”

“Mr. Gates,” Flint spoke up, recognizing the voice on the other end. “I’m afraid the elevator is stuck somewhere circa the sixth floor. Can you get us out?” Flint frowned down at his companion and added, “Expeditiously?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Captain,” the voice on the intercom signed off.

“Captain?” The panicked poodle looked up at Flint from the elevator floor.

“Don’t mind him,” Flint replied, his cheeks coloring pink. “I used to serve in the British Navy and he likes to take the piss.”

“The Navy?” The kid’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah, that explains your carriage. Very… robust.” Flint scowled at him from above. “I could never, you know? Serve. Not enough discipline, I’m afraid. And then, I imagine, all that training. Brutal, am I right?”

Flint was increasingly unimpressed with millennials with every passing moment of the day.

“I don’t mean to imply that I’m lazy, mind you,” the kid went on, unprompted. Flint was about to interject and say that he really didn’t mind and ask him to kindly shut the fuck up, when the elevator gave another uncomfortable lurch and stopped again. As if utterly oblivious to sudden impending death by either dropping from a great height or suffocation, Flint’s uninvited companion continued. “I work hard, you know. Research - now, that I am excellent at. But hard labor, swabbing the decks, the fucking _sea_? Yeah, not a huge fan of the sea. And do you ever actually stop to think what’s really _down_ there?” His incredibly blue eyes got somehow yet rounder as they fixed upon Flint’s face. “The Mariana Trench, man! Fucking kaiju, is what!”

“The kraken,” Flint couldn’t suppress a small smile. This one - was ridiculous.

“Exactly!” The kid loosened his tie, somehow encouraged by Flint’s interaction, and stretched out his hand. “John Silver, by the way. Since it looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while.” Flint reached out and took the kid’s hand, trying to place his name. John Silver. Why did that sound familiar? “You might be the only good thing to happen to me today, you know. Since I’m obviously not going to get the position I was supposed to be interviewing for.”

“Not much of a consolation prize,” Flint chuckled and reached for his mobile. Of course, no fucking reception. Bloody art deco buildings!

“Captain,” the voice came back on the intercom. “We sent Billy up there. Says the elevator is stuck.”

“Yes, Mr. Gates, we noticed.” Flint was about to punch something. On the other hand, punching something in his immediate vicinity might have actually resulted in them plummeting to death from a great height with increased rapidity.

“He can’t jimmy the door open. Will have to wait for the fire department.”

“Have they been called?” Flint sighed, letting his head fall backwards against the shut elevator door.

“Aye aye, Captain!”

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” the kid - Silver - asked with youthful concern.

“It’s fucking hot in here,” Flint admitted, eyeing Silver even as the damn kid continued to loosen and remove his tie.

“Yeah. Guess I won’t be needing this anymore.”

The tie itself was one of those slim numbers that the hipsters were so fond of these days. It made Flint feel old. Very fucking old. Unwittingly, his fingers twitched to loosen his own tie and he shifted uncomfortably against the elevator door.

“Do you want a drink?” Silver asked and Flint laughed. “I’m serious. I have a hip flask.”

“Of course you do.”

“I haven’t been drinking from it yet, today. I was saving it for later.” Silver rummaged in his messenger bag (a messenger bag for fuck’s sakes!) and pulled out a half-flask with the rendering of a skull on it. Fucking hipsters. “Knew today was gonna be a long day, but fuck - this? Wasn’t factoring this in.” He gave Flint a lopsided, bright grin and stretched out his arm. “Captain?”

Flint’s fingers brushed Silver’s as he took the flask from his hand. Oh, why the fuck not? The liquor inside was luke-warm and smokey. “Laphroaig?”

“Impressive!”

“I know my booze,” Flint shrugged and passed the flask back to Silver.

He had only taken one gulp, but he could feel the liquor radiating through his veins, making him feel significantly more mellow than a mere few seconds ago. Or perhaps the lack of air had been getting to him, and the mellowness was merely the first sign of impending brain damage. Silver, in the meantime, pressed the flask to his own lips and took a long swallow. Flint’s eyes fixed upon his neck. When the heck did the damn kid unbutton his collar? Because he had. Several buttons worth. _Fuck_.

“My sister’s in the hospital,” Silver spoke, passing the flask back to Flint. “I had to take the N-Judah here from Parnassus. Took for fucking ever. Should’ve factored Muni time in better. And for an unpaid internship anyways, ha! Can you believe they still have those? Unpaid internships? I thought the economy was getting better, but no. Thanks, Obama!”

Flint could only assume the little hipster had meant that ironically, as he took another drag from the flask, allowing his lips to linger over the rim. _Do not think about kissing him. Do not think about kissing him. Oh, fuck you, self, you’re thinking about kissing him!_

“Will your sister be all right?” Flint finally asked, pulling his mind out of the gutter.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s a fighter, Max. Sometimes _too_ much of a fighter, if you catch my drift. Ha ha!” Flint didn’t exactly, but also, he was becoming less concerned with that. The hipster was exceedingly pretty, even if he did talk too much. “I don’t know how anyone can afford to even live in this city in the first place,” Silver went on, fingers brushing Flint’s as the flask got passed back.

“I hear that,” Flint sighed. San Francisco was a damn expensive city to be gay in!

“I mean, between my part-time writing job and my-” _Don’t say part-time DJing gig, I’m begging you_ , Flint supplicated mentally…”- part-time DJing gig-” _Fuck!_ “I mean, I’m probably gonna have to sell my body pretty soon, just to make rent.”

“I’d pay you for that,” Flint suddenly proclaimed and immediately bit his tongue.

“Beg pardon?” Silver’s eyebrow flew up.

“What kind of writing?” Flint covered and mentally congratulated himself on his own quick thinking.

“That’s… not what you just meant, Captain.”

“Don’t call me that,” Flint shook his head.

“Well, you never actually told me your name,” Silver pointed out with a sly grin. Pretty little fucker.

“I guess I didn’t,” Flint replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

Silver’s hand was suddenly on his thigh. “See? I told you. You’re gonna be the good thing that happens to me today.”

“You’re a shameless flirt, you know that?” Flint muttered, shifting closer to Silver, unable to take his eyes off the younger man’s neck any longer.

“Me? You’re the one who just offered to pay me for sex!”

“You really do talk too much,” Flint barked out and pulled Silver by the lapels of his undone shirt until their mouths met and pressed together.

Silver tasted of laphroaig and youthful iconoclasm. It was exhilarating. It made Flint want to chew the damn kid’s entire lower lip right off, so he quickly moved his mouth over to Silver’s jaw, dragging his teeth along his unshaven chin, and finally down to that neck he had been eyeing for the better part of however the fuck long they’d been stuck in the art deco death trap together. The skin of Silver’s neck tasted and smelled just as intoxicating as it looked and Flint had to rein himself in from leaving a trail of purpling bruises in his wake. His hands found Silver’s narrow hips and yanked him closer by the loose leather belt. Silver muffled a moan into Flint’s thick hair, fingers digging in just under his armpits and hanging on close.

“God _damn_ , Captain!” He sighed, clever fingers sneaking in between the buttons of Flint’s shirt. “If I knew you were gonna kiss like this, I would’ve jumped you minutes ago.”

“Shut up,” Flint growled and latched his teeth around a pink nipple that he had just unearthed in the layers of crisp hipster interview-wear. Silver bucked into him, fingers carding wildly through Flint’s hair, pressing him closer. Flint laved the little nub with his tongue, letting the warm air of his own breath caress it teasingly, before diving back in and sucking it in between his lips and teeth. Beneath the palm of his hand, Flint felt the unmistakable arousal through Silver’s slacks. Oh, oh _yes_ , he would totally spoil this obnoxious brat, if it meant he got a taste of the monstrosity hidden beneath.

“Mr. Flint!”

Flint moaned into Silver’s chest, unwilling to let him go quite yet.

“Mr. Flint!” A loud knock sounded upon the locked doors of the elevator.

“I think the cavalry is here,” Silver breathed out, pulling away with as much reluctance as Flint was experiencing.

“Yes, Billy?” Flint growled. Fucking _timing_ , though!

“Stand aside. The fire department is here. They’re going to jimmy open the door!”

“Fucking hell!” Flint spat out, rising to his feet and pulling Silver up with him, as the two men hastily rearranged their clothes. Flint brushed his fingers along Silver’s unruly curls, suddenly eyeing him with more fondness than he would’ve thought himself capable of just that very morning. Yes. Very fucking pretty.

“Did… he just call you Mr. Flint?” Silver asked, managing it through labored breaths that pleased Flint to observe.

“That’s right. James Flint, at your service.” He reached out his hand and Silver grasped it with the look of a sudden heart-attack victim.

“Mr. Flint,” Silver said, attempting to but failing at suppressing a huge grin. “I am your nine o’clock.”

At that precise moment, the elevator door gave up the ghost and was forced asunder by a sweating and shirtless man whom Flint had never seen before, but had to take for a fireman given the fact that he was wearing a helmet with initials SFFD on it.

“Charles Vane. San Francisco Fire Department,” their rescuer introduced himself. “Everyone okay in here?”

“Mr. Vane. Why are you not wearing a shirt?” Flint inquired, as the man gave him his hand with surprising gallantry and aided him out of the elevator.

“It’s hot as fuck out here, Mr. Flint.” Billy Bones and his enormous arms eyed the fireman appreciatively and gave Flint a casual once over. “You’ll have to walk up the remaining six flights till we get this thing fixed, Mr. Flint.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Flint replied, looking back at Silver, whom Charles Vane, SFFD, had just aided from the stuck elevator. “I’m in no hurry. I believe my nine o’clock meeting has been cancelled.”

Slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, Silver had eyed him like a puppy who had been unjustly kicked.

“Come on, Silver. Why don’t we walk downstairs and I’ll buy you a coffee,” Flint offered with a smile.

Silver wiped the sweat off his brow and tossed his curls back as he straightened and beamed at Flint. “Sure thing, Captain. But can we make it an iced coffee instead?”

Bloody hipsters.

**Author's Note:**

> For extra inspiration, I used [this post](http://jadedbirch.tumblr.com/post/153442866760/a-pirates-life-for-me-x) of Luke Arnold's gross face as a reference.


End file.
